


the ties that bind

by wastrelwoods



Series: jupeter d/s [1]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Bottoming from the Top, Handcuffs, Light BDSM, M/M, Porn With Plot, Trust, dom!Nureyev, jupeter, mostly a plot to justify the porn which is the main thing, okay fair-to-middling BDSM, sub!Juno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:19:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9447257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastrelwoods/pseuds/wastrelwoods
Summary: Nureyev's eyes are like twin stars, sparkling above him in the half-light, and he knows with a minimum of convincing that he would let this man do anything at all to him. Just say the word. Peter Nureyev's already got Juno’s number.Also, he just plain likes the way it sounds, giving Peter the reins like that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to read this fic so i wrote it for myself. be the change you want to see in the world

The whole thing is Peter's stupid idea, to begin with.

"I can't believe I agreed to commit a robbery with you," Juno grumbles, as they pick their way down the empty corridor. Security cameras every three feet, enough to make the Kanagawas seem like private people, and Nureyev insists he's disabled them all, trust him, he's done this a million times. It's...well, it's not the first job they've pulled together, nor is it Juno's first break-in, technically. He's all about obeying the spirit of the law over the letter, which in retrospect is probably why he turned out to be such a shitty cop. Still, a lady's gotta have some standards. 

"More of a heist, technically," Peter corrects, waving one gloved hand in a wishy-washy motion as he scans the paintings lining the wall. "A caper. And anyway, Juno, dear, your function is strictly investigative. Do keep a look out, now." 

Juno scowls at him, but judging by the brilliant grin he gets in return it doesn't seem to have the desired effect. Peter makes a low noise of triumph, and leans in to press his ear to the plaster. At least a foot and a half below the nearest painting. Color Juno impressed, this bank official guy must be a little more creative than he'd given him credit for. 

Maybe a lot more creative, he reconsiders, when Nureyev cranks open the hidden safe to reveal nothing but an empty, microwave-sized lead box. "Oh, well. That is disappointing," he says, clicking his tongue. 

Exactly one second after that, the alarms start blaring. Juno meets Peter's eyes, and sighs. Typical. "Please tell me you have a backup plan." 

"Naturally," Peter replies. "What do you take me for?"

"Oh, I don't think you want me to answer that." Little red lights have started to flash by every camera lens, all down the hallway. Right on cue, the row of windows opposite them went dark, steel doors falling to block out the light. Nureyev hasn't started moving yet, which is...worrying. This is usually the part of a heist that involves running, in Juno's experience. "Anytime you want to start explaining that plan of yours--"

"No time, I'm afraid," he says, which would be par for the course, Juno thinks. "Hand me your gun, please."

The doors at the far end of the hallway fly open. Juno hands the weapon over without hesitation, and turns to see three HCPD officers looking him over with a light in their eyes like Christmas has just come early. These assholes have been praying for a chance to kick the shit out of him for years, and he’s just given them the perfect opportunity. Pretty dumb, when you think about it, robbing a house in the middle of a party with police attending. Not like they had any other options, though. This guy's a hermit, opens the house maybe twice a year, if that. "Hey," he greets the newcomers, with a nervous laugh. "Long time, no see, guys." 

"Hands up!" 

Juno whirls around in surprise, because the order comes from _behind_ him, and the barrel of his own gun nearly jabs him in the eye. Nureyev's hands don't even shake. 

There's a dark, awful, cynical side of Juno that's been waiting for this shoe to drop since Grim's Mask, and it rears its ugly head immediately. Peter's face is impassive, alien, and Juno's stomach churns so violently that he has to swallow a wave of nausea. He clicks the safety off. 

Juno couldn't move his hands if he wanted to, frozen solid like he is. He's missing something, evidence, a motive, anything beyond the thoughts in his head and the feelings in his gut--then he sees Peter's eyes sparkle, faint but familiar, and suddenly he sees the shape of the plan. He raises his hands, turns back to the boys in blue with his fingers interlocked at the back of his head. 

"Who are you? What's going on?" Three other guns all trained on him, but he knows Peter's put his away because now he's tugging Juno's hands down behind his back, he can feel cool metal encircling his wrists. The bastard took his handcuffs, too. 

"I suppose you three have never witnessed an arrest before?" Peter says, in a haughty tone that's markedly different from his own voice. "Captain Royal Lace, with the Galactic Militia," he explains, reaching beyond Juno with an ID badge in one hand. Juno can't say he's shocked to discover he hasn't come anywhere near the end of Peter's bottomless pockets by now. You would think a man would get better with fake names over time, too. He tries to keep his face neutral as the HCPD examines the fake. "I've been on Steel's tail for months. He's wanted for questioning about a -- well, I can't release the details just yet."

He tests the handcuffs. Nureyev didn't go easy on him. They're solidly built, and if he pocketed the cuffs he's sure as hell holding onto the key, too. The hold strains Juno's shoulders, just a little, especially when he pulls. It feels--

It doesn't matter how it feels. "Captain," one of the officers says, gruffly, and Peter pockets the badge again, rests a hand on Juno's shoulder, warm and solid, and god, he's standing close, the smell of his cologne is gonna linger on this suit for days. 

"That's better," Peter purrs, his face an inch from Juno's ear. "I hope it's not too much to ask if I could borrow your transport, gentlemen?"

"Hold on, we're bringing him in--"

"Of course, all due process," Peter interrupts, annoyed. "But surely you wouldn't ask me to leave a multiple offender like Steel in your...inadequate custody? I'm sure I could manage to track him down again once you inevitably let him slip away, given a few weeks, but I'm afraid time is in short supply for we higher-ups." 

The officers stare him down with police brutality in their eyes. "Right this way, Captain," one of them says, grudgingly. 

The trouble is Juno can't see a way to exercising any control over this whole situation. He's totally in Nureyev's hands, here, and it's frustrating and...well, honestly? A little freeing. They're up shit creek, and he's calmly handed Peter the only paddle and let him have his way with it. Win or lose, for once it's not Juno's problem. He slides into the backseat of the car, Peter fiddling with the gun beside him, two of the other three officers sliding in front and the last staying behind to ward off the press. The transport starts back to the nearest station, and Juno keeps his eyes forward and tries not to think too much about the dozens of little ideas that are sent pinging off in his brain every time he shifts in his seat and the cuffs chafe against his wrists. They're not really relevant or helpful ideas.

A block away, he catches Nureyev's eye, and sees the Lace persona slough off like a second skin. "Would you like to see how I left town after the first time we met?" His voice is pitched low, for Juno's ears alone. 

"Lace? What the hell you doin' back there?" asks the one in the passenger seat, and Nureyev shoots a stunning charge right into the back of his neck. 

"Oh, plotting a daring escape," he replies, in his usual melodic tones. Juno grins despite himself, and relishes the scream the other officer gets out before Peter gets to him, too. The car swerves, then rolls to an uneasy stop as his foot leaves the gas. 

Peter's eyes sparkle in the darkness. "Alright, Juno?"

His voice catches in his throat for a moment, because Peter's still hovering at a distance just shy of indecently close, flashing all his teeth at Juno and all he can smell is cologne and smoke. "That was a terrible backup plan."

"Really? I thought it worked out rather splendidly." He starts digging through his pockets. 

Juno bristles, because he's been sitting on this thought since the moment Nureyev put his plan into action and he's not going to stand for this, damn it. "You held a gun to my head!" 

Nureyev finally stumbles on the right pocket, makes a little noise of triumph and pulls out the key to the handcuffs, then looks up to see Juno's face and deflates a little. "Juno, darling, if I've told you once I've told you a hundred times. I would never bet your life! _Naturally_ I took the cartridge out first." 

He hadn't noticed, of course, just jumped to conclusions. Of course he was bluffing. "Oh." Juno feels his face burn. 

"Don't you trust me?" Peter's tone is light, but the stillness of his face belies the nonchalance. Without waiting for a reply, he slides behind Juno to start clicking open the cuffs. The pads of his fingers brush against the skin of Juno's wrists. 

"I do," he says, without really meaning to. He says it quietly, but the words seem heavy and huge nonetheless, filling up all the space between them. "God help me, but I do." 

Peter is silent and still, touch lingering on Juno's skin even after the cuffs have fallen open. Juno can't see his face, doesn't know what he might see there, doesn't want to know. The moment stretches on. 

And then it ends.  
But really, that's just the beginning of it. Little instances, over the next several days, as they chase down the files they'd failed to re-appropriate the first time around and finally close the case with the bare minimum of innocent people's lives ruined. Moments where Juno can feel Peter watching him, a little differently than before. It's distracting. It's inconvenient. 

It makes Juno feel like he's going to burst out of his fucking skin. 

When the other shoe finally drops, he's caught off guard anyway. Because it still feels strange, seeing Nureyev in his apartment like this, the city lights flickering in through the window blinds and half-obscuring his face. Always puts Juno in mind of that first last night they had, all those months ago. A stolen kiss, and a stolen key. The faint, lingering smell he'd left behind, only to return half a year later, with a new name and a hell of a lot more history. 

He snaps out of the reverie at the sound of Peter's voice. "You told me that you trusted me." From the way the words spill out it sounds like he's been holding them back for a while now. Understandably, maybe. 

Juno sets his takeout container down gently, and snags the corner of his bottom lip on his teeth, thinking his answer through, because he's a good enough detective he can sense the questions lurking behind that statement. He swallows. "Still do," he admits. "And...I have, for a while now. Probably longer I should have." 

"Well," one side of Peter's mouth tilts up in a private smile. "I don't know about that." Closer now, though when he moved Juno can't remember. His hand twitches at his side, like he wants to reach out but can't decide, so Juno decides for him. Their fingers twine, and move to rest in the center of Juno's chest, over his heart. 

"It's--" he doesn't really know how to say it in a way that won't come off as heartless. "I'm not good at trust. You don't make it far in this city without a healthy dose of cynicism and a little paranoia. It's every person for themselves out there." He can't quite meet Nureyev's eyes, so he focuses on the long, slender fingers wrapped around his own. "That's a hard habit to kick." 

Peter lifts his other hand to Juno's face and guides their lips together, so tenderly that Juno almost wishes he would stop. Another thing he's still surprised by, every time--how soft those lips are. He's had dreams about that mouth, and yet the real thing always manages to blow those fantasies out of the water. Nureyev is a strong, sweet, warm presence pressed against him, surrounding him, letting out soft little sighs as he kisses Juno senseless. He could drown in this man, he thinks, and be happy for it. 

"Oh, Juno," Peter whispers, as he pulls away. For a moment the sight, the sound of him is utterly overwhelming, makes his heart jump in his chest. Juno kisses him again, because he's not strong enough to resist the urge. 

He grins against Juno's mouth, and there's something sly in his voice when he says, "I have an idea." 

For all that phrase tends to spell out trouble, Juno doesn't shoot him down right off the bat. He does let out a very incredulous snort when Peter continues, "Well, more like a trust exercise."

"I'm not gonna like this, am I?" 

Nureyev's fingers slip out from between his own, and move to circle Juno's wrist, gently. The grin he levels is pure sex, so much so that Juno flashes back to Rex Glass all over again. "On the contrary," he says, "I only bring it up because you seemed....interested." His other hand reaches down to take Juno's from his side, gripping both wrists with a featherlike but firm pressure and drawing them up and together. He leans back into the couch as Nureyev pins his arms above his head, looming over him like a dream come true. 

He shifts closer, straddling Juno's hips and leaning in for another dizzying kiss. Then he slips a hand into his coat pocket, draped over the back of the couch, and pulls out the handcuffs. Juno freezes. 

"That's your big plan?" he grunts, shifting uncomfortably under Peter's weight. "Chaining me up?" 

He sits back, twirling the handcuffs around one finger playfully, slightly miffed pout jutting out his lower lip. "I thought perhaps you would let me take care of you, Juno," he explains, and he's sitting right over Juno's dick so he _knows_ the words have their desired effect. "With your permission, of course. If you aren't interested, we'll say no more about it." 

"I'm--not....uninterested," Juno blurts. Nureyev's eyes are like twin stars, sparkling above him in the half-light, and he knows with a minimum of convincing that he would let this man do anything at all to him. Just say the word. Peter Nureyev's already got Juno’s number. 

And, he's kind of embarrassed to admit it, he just plain likes the way it sounds, giving Peter the reins like that. 

"Is that a yes?" 

Juno watches the dangling cuffs dance through the air, and licks his lips. “What the hell, right?” He’s shooting for nonchalance, but from the pleased grin that twists Nureyev’s mouth, exposing all his sharp teeth, he’s a little more transparent than that. “I’ll try anything once.” 

Peter hmmms, leans in very close and nips at the corner of his jaw, right at the spot that always makes Juno feel like he’s going to burst into flames, and laughs softly against his skin. “I’m afraid I need to hear you say it, Juno, dear,” he whispers. 

Nureyev’s all around him, pressing into him, sliding over his skin like silk, and Juno can’t think straight. “Asshole,” he grumbles, and the thief laughs again, swinging the cuffs so the metal jingles melodically. Sucking in a shallow breath, Juno twists his head to the side and lets his eyes fall shut. “Fine. Yes. Please.” 

“Oh, manners, I like that,” Peter says, punctuating it with a roll of his hips. Then, finally, he’s leaning forward again, propped up on his knees, closing the handcuffs around Juno’s wrists, and threading the chain through the banister behind the couch to hold him in place. The metal loops snap shut. 

“Lay back, Juno. Make yourself comfortable." He moves down Juno's body, slow enough that he tries to follow and gets pulled up short by the new restraints. He strains for a moment, testing the sensation, then relaxes back into the pillow as Peter starts to undo the buttons of his shirt, mouthing over his chest and leaving soft marks on every new inch of skin revealed. One of his hands slips a little lower, and Juno inhales sharply at the unexpected pressure. "Thoughts?" 

"Keep going." It comes out a little on the shaky side. Peter smiles that sharp-edged smile of his, and slides down the zipper, his other hand reaching up to rest just above Juno's hip, holding him down. 

He stops halfway through shimmying Juno's pants off to look up at him and press a soft kiss to the buckling scar on the bridge of his nose. "You look lovely like this, darling," he praises.

The view isn't half bad from here, either. Six feet of lean, powerful, put-together Peter Nureyev, illuminated by stripes of tinted city light through the slats of the window. He’s beautiful, and precise, and in control. Every inch the king he makes himself out to be, and all that precision is laser-focused on Juno. There's an awful earnest expression on his face, and Juno's gut twists like he's staring down a fifty-foot drop. "Yeah, alright, this was a pretty good idea," he allows, swallowing hard. 

If it’s what Peter wants to hear he makes no move to acknowledge it, as he presses a line of kisses along Juno’s hip that make him want to squirm, then wraps his slender hand around Juno’s dick, which does make him squirm. “Enjoying yourself, Juno?” He moves just shy of too slow, too gentle, almost like a caress, and he can’t hold back a ragged sigh of contentment. There are times when even great sex can’t pull Juno out of his own head, and times when it takes so much time and such a concentrated effort that it’s barely worth trying, but tonight all he has to do is tug against the faint resistance of the cuffs on his wrists and he’s there, grounded to the moment, watching Nureyev, feeling Nureyev, smelling him, tasting him, like the universe has shrunk to just him and Peter. 

“Uh-huh.” He’s mouthing at the base of Juno’s dick, now, one hand sliding down to cup his balls while the other traces back up Juno’s chest. The tip of his index finger hovers an inch away from Juno’s chin, and he uses all of his limited range of motion to strain forward and wrap his lips around it. Below him, Peter grins, and rewards Juno by lathing his tongue up the underside of his cock. 

Juno stifles a moan around Peter’s finger, and doesn’t resist when he slides a second one in alongside. Doesn’t taste like anything in particular, but it feels good and gives him something to focus on besides the warm heat of Nureyev’s mouth on his dick. His thumb brushes over Juno’s chin as he pumps his fingers in and out, softly, and as much as Juno wants to choke on them he also knows he’s not calling the shots right now. Obediently, he tries to stay still and lets his eye drift shut. Peter’s really good at this. 

He feels Peter pull away from his dick at the same moment he slides his fingers, dripping, out of Juno’s mouth. Opening his eye again, he makes a confused sound at the abrupt loss of contact, and Peter chuckles at him. His thumb brushes across Juno’s bottom lip, wiping away a trail of spit. “Oh, I’m sorry, darling,” he says as he retreats. “I have to get ready.” 

“Ready?” Juno says, panting, and notices that Peter’s still mostly dressed. “Oh. Yeah.” 

Another flash of teeth as he stands to tug his shirt off over his head. Juno stares unabashedly, figuring if he can’t touch he might as well see the sights. Peter glances at him over his bare shoulder, and his smile widens. “Juno,” he warbles, fondly. “I’m flattered.” 

“Get back over here, I’ll flatter you some more.”

Peter laughs, reaching up to unhook the clasp of his necklace, shining like the heart of a galaxy. “Not just yet, I’m afraid,” he demurs. He slides off his pants, socks, underpants, taking his time and putting on a show that’s just understated enough Juno can’t call him out on it. His dick curves up towards his belly, and there’s a slight red flush over his collarbones, but beyond that he looks as cool and beautiful as an Ancient Terran statue, all soft lines and hard edges. Juno couldn’t look away if he tried, and honestly he doesn’t have the patience to try. 

He turns back to Juno, who probably looks like three car crashes and a homicide wrapped up in a wrinkled shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I really want you to fuck me,” Juno says, in a slightly petulant mood now that Nureyev’s not driving him up a wall with soft caresses. He shifts to a more vertical position and lets his legs fall open hopefully. 

Peter waltzes a couple of steps closer, rests his fingertips just inside Juno’s knee and scrutinizes him for a moment. “I did have a similar idea in mind, I’ll admit.” He lets his finger slide down Juno’s thigh, then back up, slowly, drawing a shiver out of him. “And after all, you’ve been so patient for me.” He climbs back onto the couch, knees on either side of Juno’s waist, and takes Juno’s bottom lip in between his teeth. There’s not much room, but then Peter doesn’t take up a lot of space anywhere outside Juno’s head. It’s not ideal, but it works for them, which makes it good. Really, really good. 

There’s a faint click, and a crinkle, and Juno looks down to realize Peter hasn’t come back empty-handed. He pours the lube out over his fingers, and some of it splashes over Juno’s abdomen, cold and slick. Warm, slippery fingers curl around his dick, and Juno feels a moan catch in his throat as he bucks into the touch. Peter groans right back, burying his face in the crook of Juno’s neck and dragging his teeth over the skin there. 

Juno’s shoulders are tense and aching from holding up so much of his weight, and there are a dozen stinging, tender marks peppered over his neck and chest, and he’s so hard it’s unbearable, and he can’t remember the last time he felt this good. He all but shouts at the next movement of Peter’s hand, and the chain of the handcuffs rattles against the wooden banister. 

Still pressed into his neck, Peter inhales sharply, breathing fast and shallow, and when Juno turns his head just right he can see that he’s got two, three fingers in his own ass, stretching himself out. His brain throbs at the sight, and Juno throws his head back into the pillow, trying desperately to think unsexy thoughts as the edge of a cliff comes rushing up to meet him. “Shit, Peter, you’re gonna kill me,” he exhales. 

He can feel Peter’s breath hot against his collarbone, the gentle whisper of his laughter. “Try to hold on a few minutes longer,” he purrs, “I’ve got plans for you.” 

Juno tugs against the cuffs, hard, lets the bite of the metal against his wrists distract him from the torrent of sensations for a moment. “Well, hurry up and get to them, then,” he manages. 

Peter stops jerking him off between one stroke and the next, abruptly, and Juno whines at the sudden loss of contact. “Your wish is my command, Detective.” 

Then he moves, guides Juno’s dick to his entrance and slowly sinks down onto it. It’s so much more than before, and Juno inhales so quickly that he nearly chokes on air. Peter takes his time, taking him in by degrees, making soft little sounds as he goes. When he’s fully inside, he takes a moment to adjust, then starts to move, setting a slower pace than Juno would have chosen. It’s so...god, all he can do is lay there and watch Peter _use_ him, bounce on his dick and throw his head back like he’s perched on a fucking throne. 

The noises he makes, too, they’re….Nureyev’s always the talkative type, he makes his feelings known plainly and just a touch theatrically, sometimes. He doesn’t feel the need to hold back now, letting a litany of gasps and moans and _oh, Juno_ s fall effusively from his lips while he fucks him into the cushions. 

Juno’s so close he can’t even find the breath for words, just hitching his hips up to meet Peter’s thrusts as often as he can. He opens his mouth and a long, hitching moan spills over, and he’s so breathless it sounds like a sob. The pace Peter’s set starts to pick up, as he leans forward and wraps a hand around himself. Juno can see the frames of his glasses start to slide down the bridge of his nose, a flush high on his cheeks as he says Juno’s name like a prayer. 

He’s so deep into it that it’s almost a shock when orgasm hits, punching the remaining air from his lungs and making his head spin. He keeps coming for a time that must be a few seconds but feels like days, spread out underneath Peter and gasping out a word that might be his name. 

Peter doesn’t slow for a second, still driving himself onto Juno’s dick with a purpose, and finally falling forward onto his arms when he tumbles over the edge after Juno. He’s pretty fuzzy, brain flooded with all those happy sex chemicals, but Juno’s pretty sure Peter is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, just then.

With the momentum of his earlier movement intact, Peter swoops down and kisses Juno so thoroughly that he might actually forget his own name for a second or two. His breathing is ragged when Peter pulls away, touching their foreheads together, and Juno definitely forgets another important fact when he reaches up to trace Nureyev’s face in his hands and is stopped short by the handcuffs on his wrists. “Damnit,” he mumbles to himself, sinking back against the poor half-crushed pillow. 

Most of Peter’s smiles show all his teeth, and those certainly appeal to Juno the majority of the time. The one he levels now is nothing more than a small, private quirk of his lips, so subtle that he might not realize he’s doing it. Juno loves it. “Oh, darling, let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” 

“M’fine,” Juno says, brushing it off to keep Peter there a moment longer, but it’s too late. He pulls away, shifting his bare body to one side as he digs through the pockets of his discarded coat and retrieving the key. 

He’s gentle with Juno as the cuffs spring open, pressing a soft kiss to each wrist and rubbing at his tingling fingers to get the blood flowing again. Juno’s too fucked-out to complain, and it’s not as if it feels bad, being babied like this. Sort of the opposite, really. “My dear, sweet detective,” Peter lilts, tracing a finger over the bruise the metal left on his skin. Juno turns his warm face into the pillow, trying not to look like he’s memorizing the feel of Peter’s tender touches. He aches all over, and there’s a patch of come just starting to dry on his belly, and the shirt he’s wearing is probably too stained and wrinkled to salvage, but Peter….

Juno doesn’t trust people easily. Usually he doesn’t trust people ever. You give someone the power to hurt you, he figures, and nine times out of ten they aren’t gonna do much with it that you’ll like. 

Peter, he thinks, might be that tenth time. A lady can get lucky once.

**Author's Note:**

> im also @wastrelwoods on tumblr if u wanna hang? hmu


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